Harry Potter One Shots

Good Luck Kisses (Oliver Wood)

I hummed, turning my broom in lazy arcs as I flew high above the Quidditch pitch. It was early morning, only a few minutes past dawn, and as of now, I was the only one up in the air.

Not that I minded in the slightest.

This was my favorite time of the day to fly. Yes it was ungodly early, and yes I'd barely gotten four hours of sleep, and yes I died a little when I thought of the pile of school work I'd yet to sort through, but still. Godric, would you look at that view?

Sunlight glittered off the face of the Black Lake, illuminating the far banks. Last night's fog was just beginning  to lift from the Forbidden Forest, clinging tenaciously to the tips of the taller trees. From here, I thought I could see the Whomping Willow begin to stir, but it could have just as likely been a figment of my overactive imagination.

A sharp whistle brought me back to reality. Oliver Wood was standing on the trunk that housed our team's Quidditch supplies, waving madly at me in a sub-par attempt to get my attention.

"Oi! (Y/L/N)! Get down here!" he bellowed, hopping down from his perch. I smirked, he looked rather ridiculous. Nonetheless, I pelted down towards my teammates who had finally made their way to the pitch. Alicia, Angelina, and Harry dove out of my way with strangled cries before I jerked my broom to a sudden stop, the handle hovering inches from Wood's nose.

"Wicked," the Weasley twins breathed. They had stepped to the side to avoid a possible collision, and were now helping me from my broom.

Oliver's face was slightly white from shock, though he managed to choke out, "You'd make a fair Seeker," rather begrudgingly. In all honesty, I was quite impressed that he'd managed to stay standing. Alicia, Angelina, and Harry, on the other hand, glared exasperatedly up at me from the ground.

"I think I'll leave that to Potter," I smirked, helping the poor boy to his feet. He blushed, his face going red so that he reminded me of that younger Weasley boy he was so fond of. Ron, I think it was.

"No matter. You're all late," Oliver began, folding his hands behind his back. The rest of the team groaned.

George bent down, whispering in my ear, "Here we go."

Oliver glared at him, and George straightened reluctantly. "As I was saying," our Captain resumed, "you're all late. Except for (Y/L/N), of course."

"Of course," mimicked Fred, his voice pitched an octave higher. Wood simply glowered at him.

"As I was saying," Wood tried again, ignoring the twins, "practice was this morning at the crack of dawn! It's now half an hour past! How do you expect us to-to-to beat Slytherin tomorrow if you lot can't get yourself to practice!"

Spinnet and Potter had the decency to look ashamed, but Angelina and the twins simply rolled her eyes, smirking at me when Oliver's back was turned.

"We don't need practice, we've got (Y/N)," George stated simply. I flushed.

Wood crossed his arms, looking annoyed. "You honestly think that a couple of good luck kisses will ensure that we win the House Cup?" Back tracking slightly, he turned to me, ears pink. "Not that they aren't nice, or appreciated. I—uh—oh, bother..." he trailed off sheepishly.

"Oliver's right, guys," I smirked. "As much as you might enjoy your good luck charm, it won't win us anything."

"It hasn't failed us yet though," Fred winked. "C'mon, Wood. Stop with the morning practices. We'll throw in Angelina, double the kisses. Or Harry, if that's your thing."

At this point, Potter was bright red, and George was scowling at his twin who had started to make kissy faces at Johnson. "Not my girlfriend, you nitwit," he grumbled, shoving his brother playfully backwards.